Chapter 72 - Awakening

Hawthorn looked away in disgust as he watched his Fireblast wash over his foe. His mouth was twisted as though this latest victory had left a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

In all the arena matches he had participated in, he had never seen an intervention such as today’s occur. The arena matches were supposed to be inviolate. The barrier spell would only intervene when it judged that a fighter was completely unable to defend himself or critical, life-threatening damage would be sustained.

He had certainly never witnessed an advanced regrowth healing spell cast upon the losing party. Such miraculous effects surpassed what he knew even the complex spell matrix of the arena was capable of. This meant the academy’s hand was at work here, and they clearly wanted Hawthorn to win this match.

This much was apparent when he saw his body had been restored to near full functionality in mere moments. Then it was only further reinforced when he sensed the fluctuations of the arena’s barrier. Before any visible cues could be distinguished, Hawthorn had known the little brat would no longer be able to step out of this arena.

As helpless and bitter as he felt at being handed the victory in such a manner, he would still reap the boy’s life. He decided to ignore the academy’s meddling intervention for now, and end the fight as swiftly as he could. He would worry about details later, as he felt his reputation had already suffered far too much in this incident. Hawthorn would have rather never crossed paths with this little devil of a boy, but it was now too late for such regrets.

“NOOOO!”

The shrill cry that pierced the air immediately after his spell struck home brought a strange chill to his back. It was a female voice who sounded both young and desperate, even verging on the edge of hysteria.

Hawthorn scowled as he walked toward the arena’s exit. He was done with this farce.

As his steps reached the spot where the boy had fallen, Hawthorn frowned in surprise. He distinctly recalled the barrier not activating, yet his spell seemed to have inflicted almost no damage upon the boy at all.

His eyes were closed, apparently knocked unconscious by the spell. The clothes on his body were still smoldering, tendrils of black smoke swirling into the air. Incredibly, other than some minor burns, burnt hair and redness across his skin, he appeared otherwise unharmed by the effects of his Fireblast.

Hawthorn frowned deeply at this. He knew the power of this spell. If it struck a soldier wearing full plate armor, it would roast the man alive before beginning to melt the armor itself. Had the academy used its hand from the shadows once more? What was their game?

Gritting his teeth, Hawthorn’s eyes turned cold as he raised his hand and began drawing new elemental runes in the air. There was a strange feeling he got when he looked at this boy. It was as though he were staring into the depths of a dark abyss. His instinct told him that he needed to take down this potential threat right here, right now while he still could.

“Get away from him!”

Hawthorn barely had time to turn his head when a wave of raw elemental essence so concentrated it resembled a physical object struck his body from the side and flung him high into the air. His shock at the sudden attack was still visible on his face when he hit the ground. His body tumbled uncontrollably across the sand, skidding and shedding several layers of skin in the process.

Shock was quickly replaced by anger in his heart. Never had he suffered so much humiliation during a single day! Desperately trying to bleed feeling back into his limbs, Hawthorn managed to rise to his knees and threw a look to see who this new threat was.

A little girl who could barely be 10 years of age was kneeling beside the fallen boy. She cradled his head in her arms with surprising gentleness, as though afraid her touch might hurt him. As she ran a trembling hand across his forehead, tears began to slide unnoticed down her pale cheeks.

Another boy of similar age knelt by her side. On his grim face worry struggled with anger as he swiftly began casting what Hawthorn could recognize as a healing spell.

Coughing out a mouthful of dust, Hawthorn was finally able to draw a breath. He recognized this pair - who wouldn’t? The boy was Reikard Farrow, an outstanding mage whose talent was only overshadowed by that of his sister. She was the newest star student of Aegis Academy, after all: Kassandra Farrow. Not only had she risen to the peak of the Initiate stage within the one year she had been attending the academy, it was rumored she was close to awakening as a..

The rest of this thought was cut off short as panic flooded his veins with ice. Shivering in true terror, Hawthorn struggled to draw a shuddering breath as the strange succession of events that had led to this moment finally all made sense.

Even the last look of bitter disappointment that had flashed in the boy’s eyes and his puzzling last words, Hawthorn could finally understand them all. They had both been pawns, and just as the boy had been sacrificed, it was now his turn.

His heart was thumping heavily in his chest as his thoughts fell into chaos. He did not dare move a muscle for fear of what might come next. He felt as though the arena that had always been his playground had now turned into a cage. He was trapped with a ferocious beast, and for the first time he wanted nothing more than to scramble away.

Already, thick streams of elemental essence were swirling into a noticeable vortex that was centered around the little girl. The sheer amount of essence terrified Hawthorn. He had heard only legends of summoners and the mighty displays of raw elemental power that would be unleashed during their awakening. He had always wished he could witness such a sight.

Never in his wildest nightmares had he thought he would see one from this close up, let alone feel its violent energies slowly begin to turn their focus upon him.

In spite of wild fluctuations of power so intense that they were plainly visible to the naked eye, an island of calm surrounded the figures of the little girl and the boy who lay cradled in her arms. It was like the eye of a mighty storm, where an eerie calm belied the terrifying power gathering momentum just outside of arms reach.

“Kass, my spells won’t work on him,” Reikard cried in distress as his spell sank into his brother’s body, but then fizzled uselessly before dissipating.

“I know. I can’t reach him with my powers either. His breathing seems stable though. You must take him to father,” Kass said in the soft, vulnerable voice of a little girl who was struggling with a some deep, unspeakable emotion. “Take care of big brother for me, Reik.”

Reikard looked like he wanted to say something, but he took one look at his sister and clamped his mouth shut. A steely look of determination entered his eyes as he nodded, then carefully slung his unconscious brother across his own back with surprising strength. He stood there for a moment, watching the gathering storm around him gaining momentum.

By now, the elemental power had gathered into rumbling clouds of glowing mist. It swirled increasingly faster as the vortex of energy grew in both size and momentum. Wind began to howl in Hawthorn’s ears, and shocking thunderclaps could be heard from within this mist.

As Reikard stepped toward the edge of the howling maelstrom of power, it seemed to pause for a brief moment. Glowing motes of light floated in the air, frozen like snowflakes which were borne by an invisible wind.

“Be careful, Kass,” Reikard whispered over his shoulder, pausing briefly before stepping past the sudden calm in the storm. He didn't look back as he stepped outside the arena's barrier.

Kassandra did not respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath. The mists surrounding her seemed drawn by this minute gesture. They rushed into a wild torrent and streamed into the little girl’s body. At first they entered through her nose, then her mouth, her eyes and ears. Finally, it was simply not fast enough and her entire body began to float in the air as massive currents of elemental essence flowed into her skin from all directions.

Kassandra’s body glowed with a deep azure light as every inch of skin began to greedily suck in the light. Rumbling sounds filled the area, and even the barrier began to shake as the edges of the great vortex continued to expand instead of shrinking.

Hawthorn began to truly panic now. His breathing grew ragged as he staggered back on trembling legs. He knew Kassandra ought to be a mere Initiate mage, but the raw amount of power she was gathering into herself simply beggared his wildest fears.

Abruptly, her eyes flashed open and the seething clouds stopped dead. Still floating in the air, Kassandra lifted a hand in front of her, and the mists coalesced under this gesture and formed the vague outline of a woman. Though at first incorporeal and blurry, more of the mist was drawn into the mysterious woman's body as her skin took on a pale blue sheen.

Slim, shapely legs were clothed in pure clouds that stretched up to her slender neck. Slender arms of the same blue hue took shape in a matter of seconds. The delicate lines of her face were slowly filled in next. There was an eagerness to them that transcended the vast power which flashed behind her pupil-less eyes. More churning clouds crowned her head, expanding upward into a constantly erupting geyser of elemental power.

It was the first elemental spirit Hawthorn had ever beheld. She was about six feet tall, looking nearly human except for the blue tinge of her skin and the currents of elemental power swirling above her head.

The elemental spirit drew closer to the little girl who had called her forth. As she did so, she raised her hand and their palms came into contact with each other. A blinding light surged from the simple touch, accompanied by a shockwave of power that nearly knocked Hawthorn off his feet. By the time Hawthorn’s vision had recovered, Kassandra Farrow was alone once more.

Her eyes were closed and her head bowed down as she slowly descended to the ground. The newly arisen summoner let out a slow breath, sending visible eddies of elemental power swirling out of her mouth. The clouds above her were still churning, the petals of a flower which had yet to fully bloom.

When she opened her eyes, the world shuddered to a halt and held its breath. The air was charged with the thrill of reaching a new peak, the birth of a new star. Though they were not even directly gazing at Hawthorn, her eyes were shards of crystal ice that burned with a cold fire as they exerted crushing pressure upon the trembling mage Adept who stood at the opposite side of the arena.

The shaking of Hawthorn’s hands would not stop, nearly spoiling the desperate fire shield he began to cobble together as soon as some semblance of wits had returned. It was not that Hawthorn had never tasted defeat, for he had. He had been overmatched upon the arena before. Such was not the problem now. A difference in skill or talent was just that, a discrepancy between two opposing parties which could be compensated for with other resources at his disposal such as cunning, deceit or ruthlessness.

What truly gnawed at the edges of sanity in Hawthorn’s mind was the sheer vastness of the elemental powers aligning themselves against him. The very air lay so charged in potential power that a single spark would set the entire stage ablaze and blow the whole arena into kingdom come - let alone his own miserably inadequate fire shield.

The egg-shell membrane was a sickly maroon that couldn’t even protect him from the glare of the arc lightning dancing among the boiling clouds coiled above Kassandra’s head. They hung at the ready, snakes of glittering cobalt ready to strike at their mistress’ command.

When her eyes finally regained focus, there was a chilling glow of barely contained fury in her gaze that blew away any dwindling hopes Hawthorn nestled within his chest of finding a non-violent resolution to the current conflict. It crumpled his tin can heart and left him drowning in the sopping, regurgitated remains of his former bravado.

His confidence shattered like so much glass, cheap and fragile like the trinkets of a foolish child. He now knew what it was like to be one of his victims - reduced to a cringing, witless fistful of flesh weeping blood and courage until only a gutless, headless carcass remained.

Hawthorn would die here, he now knew. He could not possibly stand against such a titanic foe. The beguiling shape of the little girl in front of him concealed a true monster the likes of which reduced the former terror of the academy arenas into a ragdoll puppet with broken strings.

“Shatter,” were the first words that took shape upon the summoner’s frost-kissed lips. It was a soundless command, for Hawthorn heard no sound other than the berserk howling of the gale that answered her call.

The snaking dragons of cobalt lightning uncoiled with impossible speed, opening wide their maws with a blinding flash. They tore through his shields like so much paper, almost contemptuously flinging him off his feet and sending him careening along the floor as though he were a discarded toy. This initial collision alone set off a series of disturbing cracks all along the bones in his chest, ribs snapping like brittle sticks left baking under the sun for too long.

Hawthorn spit out a mouthful of blood. It joined the crimson trail that liberally painted the golden sand of the arena floor. It was a good 20 feet in length, and patches of torn skin and clothes only added more color to the mix.

Hawthorn was a broken doll that lay curled around his ruined torso like a caterpillar shaking under the regard of a spider queen. His muscles twitched spastically as they convulsed around limbs that lay twisted at unnatural angles.

It was still a while longer before Hawthorn heard the sounds of approaching footsteps. It was a countdown that bore down upon the dusk of his life. It was only now that Hawthorn began to regret the many cruelties he had inflicted upon others, for never had he known the pitch black depths of despair with such chilling familiarity as now.

The strong feed upon the weak. This was a basic axiom by which Hawthorn had lived his entire life.

Now, he would spill his life's blood upon the altar of this same principle - only this time, he was the weak, helpless prey.

Above him towered the strong, and just the killing intent radiating in waves from her presence squeezed the breath out of him.

For he was weak, oh so weak.

And she was strong - terrifyingly so.